There were so many holes in the floor of the truck, Carol had to be careful where she put her feet. The seat fabric had ripped away down to sponge and a few of the springs had uncoiled and stood erect between her and the old man.
Don’t you wanna know where I’m takin’ you, Carol? Old Man Walker said without turning to look. They’d been trundling along for hours with hardly a word.
How you know my name?
I was at the card table the night your daddy bet you and lost.
You know Travis Curt too? Carol said, feeling her voice falter.
Well I knew him, if that’s what you mean.
Don’t y’all talk anymore?
The old man stared at Carol for a long moment, then turned back to the road without saying anything else. He had long gray hair and squinted to see anything close enough to touch.
It don’t matter to me where we going, said Carol finally. So long as it’s far’way. She imagined Russ then. He was next to her mother and they were both looking at her.
Old Man Walker coughed. It’s far’nough that the truck might’n make it all the way.
Carol looked down through a hole at the road passing under them. It’s an old one, ain’t it?
Old? asked the old man. I only had it sixteen years.
I mean it’s well-used.
Most of the time it goes anywhere I want it to, if you feed it just like a horse. But I don’t care for it the way I care for an animal.
I know what you mean, Carol said. Animals are jus’ like children.
You ever leave the county before, child?
I’ve been to Lexington. When my momma was alive. But I don’t remember it.
Well, we’re going the opposite way, to a place you surely ain’t never bin, and would never find by accident.
He turned to glance out the rear window, which was yellowed and webbed with cracks.
And if any folk got a mind to follow us—then I gots somethin’ for ’em.
He reached down and pulled out a bone-handled knife from a wooden box on the floor.
You gonna scalp ’em, mister?
Old Man Walker laughed. You read too many books, child.
I only ever had one book, but I loved it.
Tell me the story.
There weren’t no story, it were pictures.
Pictures of what then?
Fairies.
What?
Little folks, tiny creatures with wings that are always near us.
You mean flies?
No, I mean fairies.
Hmm. So no schoolin’?
Not much.
Old Man Walker went quiet then, as though talking had tired him out. For a time Carol looked down again, at the road passing beneath them. But then she thought of something that made her feel afraid. She turned quickly to the old man, determined to ask, even if it meant finding out he was in the service of her father.
How did you know where I was, mister?
Heh, heh, I was wonderin’ if you’d ask that. Luck or fate is what it was. I heard some folks outside the feed store, jabberin’ about a young gal wi’ child out there on the highway who looked to be runnin’ away. I knew it had to be you and I was right. He laughed as if pleased with himself.
Does my daddy know? Is he gun’ give chase?
The old man cackled wildly, then pointed at the box with the bone knife. I’d hate for it to happen that way, Carol, but so be it.
For what to happen?
For your daddy to meet me at them crossroads.
What crossroads? Is that where we’re goin’?
No, no, child. Ever’body gits crossroads in their lives. It’s where a person has the chance to choose another way.
Will I have to go back if he meets us there? I don’t want to go back.
The man spat on the floor. It ain’t no real place is what I’m tryin’ to tell ya—but you ain’t never goin’ back. Not for any reason. Better to throw yourself on a fire and burn alive than go back to your daddy.
Carol felt for Mary Bright, who she’d hidden under her leg. But I ain’t got no money and don’t know a soul but you.
How old are you? Twelve? Fifteen?
I guess around fifteen. I ain’t never had a birthday, except when Momma was alive, and I was too young to know my numbers.
The old man took one hand off the steering wheel, reached into his coat pocket, and pulled out a stack of money tied with string. He threw it into Carol’s lap with a laugh.
That’s ever’thing I ever won from your daddy at cards.
Carol had never seen so many bills in one place.
The old man stuck his hand out, and Carol returned the wad of money.
Just so it don’t fall through one of them holes in the floor. I’m gonna hold it until we get where we’re going. But it’s yours, I promise.
You’re jus’ givin’ it to me?
Old Man Walker turned to look at her then. What you give in this world will be given back to you. And what you take will be taken from you. Them’s the oldest words I know. I was just a lil’un when that got told to me, but I always remember to pass it on.
When it got dark the headlamps of the truck flickered ahead on the road like two candles. Carol dozed for a time, then woke and noticed the old man’s face was all puckered in, not moving. His mouth hung open, too, and his breathing was loud and forced. Carol grabbed his arm.
Wake up! Wake up!
The old man’s body flinched, and they veered violently to the side of the road, spraying rocks into a ditch.
What the hell you tryin’ to do? Make me wreck, woman?
Your eyes were closed! You were sleepin’!
Tsk! I wasn’t sleepin’, this is just how I look, if you hadn’t noticed.
Well you were breathin’ funny, like you was snorin’.
We ain’t bin together but half a day, and you’re tellin’ me how to breathe. Typical woman.
I didn’t know . . .
Well, said the old man, squinting at the road ahead. I guess it is kinda funny. You’re not the first person to think I was dead.
I didn’t think you was dead mister, I thought you was sleepin’.
The truck, still rolling through the darkness, filled with the sound of their laughter.
I had me a daughter once, Carol.
When, mister?
Long ago. Before.
Before what?
Before I changed. I was once like your daddy. Especially after the things I seen in the war.
What war?
Old Man Walker flinched angrily. What war! Christ, child, the American Civil War.
Oh, yeah, I heard of that.
I should think so. How about Nunna daul Tsuny? The trail where they cried?
Carol had only heard Cherokee a couple of times in her life, but tried to imagine what it could be. She pictured Hansel and Gretel lost in dense woodland with only the fairies to help.
Outside it was very dark. Night was just beginning.
Then Old Man Walker noticed something moving in Carol’s hand. He turned sharply then jumped back in his seat.
What the hell’s that! What you holdin’ there!
It’s jus’ Mary Bright, my doll.
The old man squinted as he leaned down toward the small figure in Carol’s hands.
It’s a doll you say?
Yes sir, Mary Bright.
Jesus Christ in heaven, I thought you’d had the baby while I was talkin’ to you.
Carol stroked the top of Mary Bright’s head. I hope it’s gonna be that easy, she said. I got her name from Momma. She said that since I bin’ born, ever’ day would be merry and bright.
Sometime in the middle of the night, they turned down a dirt road and bounced along for almost an hour. When they finally stopped, it was before a large house that had once been something grand but was now crumbling like an old wedding cake.
Carol woke when the engine ceased turning over. She looked out and saw a Black woman smoking a cigar on the porch. The woman raised her hand in the weak glow of the truck’s lamps. Then another woman, tall and white, stepped forward from the shadows. She had a shotgun in the crook of her arm and a sharp, mean face.
Who are they? Carol asked.
Bessie and Martha.
Am I gonna stay with them?
That’s right.
Carol sat in the truck, not knowing what to do. Her throat felt rough from the engine’s fumes, and her swollen legs ached without mercy. The sight of the women filled her with dread. She wondered if they were going to kill her, and if this had been her daddy’s plan all along.
Old Man Walker climbed down from the truck and came around to her door.
When he helped her out, Carol was surprised at the strength in his sinewy hand. If he was on her side, she felt instinctively that her father could never win against a person like this.
When he led her toward the house, she felt like a small child. He held onto her with one hand, while in his other dangled Carol’s small case, containing a doll, a few clothes, a page torn from a book, and a single shoe.